The Oakfield Massacre
by DangerRanger5
Summary: A retelling of one of Albion's worst massacres by a survivor. One shot.


The Oakfield Massacre

by DangerRanger5

We sat at a camp not far north of Bowerstone. Four of us crowded around the increasingly pitiful looking fire, under stretched canvas awnings which did little to keep out the howling winds and driving rains. Forked lighting cracked out over the stormy sea to the west, and I involuntarily shuddered as the crack rolled in loud and ominous above the sounds of the storm. So we four crowded closer about our little fire.

I, the newest of our company, though not a raw recruit, and Pete Two-shanks to my left. On my right sat Lefty the Mark, an interesting man with a crooked nose. And whilst these two gossiped idly to keep their spirits up, their mouths flapping like the tent around us, it was our fourth companion who caught my attention. Only Pete and I were supposed to be on guard, though Lefty had found excuse to join us. He made no mention of his crippling fear of storms, and we made none either.

But not long after Lefty had begun to warm his bones at our fire did Will Shackles emerge from the roaring gale, a hollow expression on his face. A stern and serious man, he never looked grimmer than that night. His face had sunken in and for a moment we thought ourselves attacked by Hollow Men. But no, this shambling, gaunt faced creature was one of our own. There was life yet in his eyes, though they betrayed a deep sadness.

Shackles had mumbled an excuse about the storm keeping him awake before settling down about our fire. It troubled us not to have an extra body around the fire, yet another reassuring figure to fight back the night's terror. But Shackles said little and contributed little. I watched him, though he did not see me. For his gaze was turned ever towards the sea, and ever towards the north. He kept looking up towards the hazardous cliffs and mountains of Rookridge as if expecting to see something from that direction.

And when he wasn't looking that way, with a strange look upon his face, Shackles would sit and watch us silently, an unreadable expression upon his face. Pete and Lefty spoke of mundane things, of the leather straps holding the tent together, of the salt rations for this evening, of the dozen men we killed the day before. And Shackles said nothing. He grunted occasionally, or laughed a sneering laugh from the edge of his mouth. He seemed anxious, on edge, waiting for something to happen. And this apprehension flowed from him out into the rest of us.

As if being on guard during this worst of all nights wasn't bad enough in itself, the three of us began to fear an imminent attack. We expected legions of the undead to descended over the invisible hills and assail us, or of packs of Balverines to lunge upon from the impenetrable darkness.

Finally, when the tension was near breaking point, Pete and Lefty allowed their silly conversation to die an awkward and nervous death. It was then, in the sudden lull in speech, that Shackles cleared his throat and leaned forward.

"How about a story, lads" he said suddenly. "How about a story to keep back the shadows eh, and pass the time. As it so happens, I could tell you a story that happened not too far from here. And I'll tell you for certain that it's true, every word of it. How do I know it's for certain, eh? That's because I was there you know, I saw it all with my very eyes. So that's how I know."

He cleared his throat again and we all remained silent. I felt under the impression that Shackles was speaking just to say something, and not as a result of us listening.

"So, the beginning of the story. I guess it begins in Oakfield, to the north there, beyond Rookridge. That's where I grew up, that is. Born there and spent all my childhood in that town, a nice town to do so if I do say. Only small, you know, just a few farmers and a few monks making an honest living. We had a tavern too, the Sandgoose, perhaps you've heard of it? I remember it being big but I suppose that was on account of my being so small at the time.

"Anyway, as it was I was growing up there a good many years ago, I couldn't have been more than ten at the time, when one night we were having a feast. The whole town was involved, not a difficult matter when there were so few of us. It wasn't hard to know everyone in town and up in the Temple by first name, not at all. So the whole town was having a feast at the Sandgoose which, coincidentally, happened to be at the centre of town.

"But I wasn't going. You see, I'd had a falling out with my mother about my step-father. His name was Stephen, and that was what I called him. But mother demanded that I call him father. 'I'd rather burn in hell' said I 'Rather burn in hell than call him that'. But mother wouldn't have any of it. And Stephen, when he heard me yelling at mother, became angry.

'Listen here you' he yelled at me. 'You do as your mother tells you, or I shall give you a hiding about your ears.' I spat at his feet and screamed at him.

'Go on you' I told him 'You just try it'. And when he came for me, my mother screaming about it, I dashed away. Now it happened that there was a tall tree not far from the centre of town, a gigantic tall thing with few low branches and plenty of leaves. And so I ran to it and scrambled up it, as I had done many times before. We had played games, the other children and I. I remember running about that tree and racing to the top of it. Who could climb the highest? That was my favourite game, because I was the best at it.

"And so that evening I climbed to the very top of the tree, the very heights of it. And mother and Stephen came and stood at the bottom of it, yelling at me to come down. But I wouldn't, I only yelled back at them. Stephen seemed ready to come up after me. He was a red-faced man, thick and hairy. I remember only that he was big and his face was impossibly red, as if he were always out of breath or drunk, either of which might have been the case.

"As it was, mother and Stephen had been getting ready for the feast, and so Stephen stood at the bottom of the tree in his finest raiment, howling and hissing up at me. His face was extraordinarily red at this point, a fact I remember quite clearly. I could see it even from the very top of the tree, as if I were standing two feet from him. And so when he threatened to come up after me, clutching at the lower branches of the tree, it was only mother's frustrated pleas that finally calmed him.

'Oh just leave him' she sighed, pulling at Stephen's arm and then dusting him off. She looked really quite lovely that night, arrayed in her best frocks. 'Just leave him Stephen; he can just rot up there, if he wants' she told my step-father. Still fuming, Stephen allowed himself to be pacified and led away by my mother. As they left I yelled at them, cursing them and spitting.

"But soon enough they had crossed the paddock and had reached the Sandgoose along with many others. I could see them mingling now amongst our neighbours, and soon Stephen's red-faced glow had dissipated. They danced and drank and ate whilst my belly groaned, and my hands burned from climbing the tree.

"But I wouldn't come down. Some of you may know, but I'm not one to give up a grudge so easily, even then I was a stubborn brat, a real nuisance to my mother and step-father after my old man passed. On the smallest points I would remain firm, throwing a tantrum or taking a beating worse than what it was worth. But that was what I did, nonetheless. And so I sat up in that tree the whole night, watching the rest party and letting my hate fester.

"I don't confess wishing any specific ill-feelings, but I did nurture a simmering anger towards my mother who had just left me. They had forgotten quickly about me, or so it appeared. Just as I was considering coming down, perhaps to play a prank on them or disturb the festivities somehow, I caught glimpse of a lone figure approaching the town.

"Striding confidently down the main road from Rookridge came a figure of great and terrible majesty. Instantly I was struck by a sudden surge of fear and apprehension, the blow of which was so great that I nearly fell from the tree. My throat seized up and I wanted to shout out, I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry and to weep, but I could do nothing. At this point I had no idea who that figure was, or what they wanted. All I knew was that their simple appearance chilled me to my bones and made me shake with fear. At that instant I wished to be on the ground so I could run, so I could flee from the approach of that creature and run to my mother. I was scared beyond anything I've ever felt before.

"My lads, I cannot describe the terror of that vision, the overwhelming instinct to flee. But as it was I was frozen in place.

"She came wearing a great dark coat, with a feral looking mongrel at her heels. She skipped, didn't walk, but skipped down the path towards the Sandgoose. I wanted to scream, but my voice was trapped in my throat. The woman lifted up her hand and I heard a hissing sound. The air in front of her shimmered and shifted, and there was a loud cracking sound. Suddenly the Sandgoose erupted in flames, a great conflagration which raised like a pillar of fire high into the air.

"From even as far away as I was, I still felt the terrible heat of that explosion. The people nearest to the eruption were consumed instantly, disappearing within the angry red glow whilst those slightly further seemed to just lie down. They appeared to be tired, suddenly taken with weariness and laying down to rest, such was my vision of it. But as I continued to watch, I realised the far more sinister truth. I had never seen someone die before, but I suddenly became aware of it when I realised those who had fallen did not move again. They just lay there, still as if asleep, but much more still than that.

"The woman continued on, starting to jog now. I saw two of the Town Guards rush at her, brandishing swords and pistols. But they were as nothing to her. Effortlessly she unsheathed a wicked looking mace, a thing of spikes and blades in all directions, and a finish which shone brilliantly in the angry red glow of the Sandgoose. She seemed only to tap the guards lightly with it, a chiding reprimand rather than an attack. But no sooner had she touched them than they flew into the air, disappear in the shadows. Swish, swish, she disposed of those two.

"I don't remember screams at that point, but there must have been. For the woman now moved amongst the survivors and begun to lay about her with savage delight. I don't recall screaming, but I do recall laughing. The woman laid low several of my neighbours before chasing the rest off.

"I heard moaning now, crying and sobbing, and the crackle of flames as the Sandgoose continued to burn. Still I remained in the tree. Far in the distance I could hear more screaming, and there were a few more explosions, more pillars of fire springing up in the direction of the Temple of Light. I didn't dare descend. The night seemed to close in all around me, at once my greatest ally, and my greatest fear. She was still out there, but at least up here I was safe.

"In the market, by the ruins of the Sandgoose, I now saw figures moving. I recognised the sheriff and a few other guards. They examined the slaughter and armed themselves. I saw a few other survivors there too, armed roughly with axes and pitchforks. Some more survivors began to arrive, stumbling in out of the darkness. It was a strange sight, for I could see nothing around myself, but the market was well illuminated by the Sandgoose, as if a giant lantern set down in the middle of Oakfield.

"The Sheriff began to bark orders, confidently calling to his men and reassuring the survivors. Leaping from the darkness, she came upon them again, still laughing wildly. There were a few shots, and the sheriff even clashed his sword with her once, twice, three times before she struck him dead. The others scattered as the woman moved amongst them almost at leisure. Her fell mongrel tore at the throats of any knocked down but not instantly finished, and it lunged at those who turned their back to it.

"As before, the slaughter was over faster than it began. Now, instead of running off after the survivors, the woman rested before the blaze and gazed at her work. She then began to glow, a sickly green glow which spread out of her. I heard words echo across the fields towards me, but the meaning was lost at such a distance.

"And as I watched in stunned horror, I saw those who had just fallen begin to rise again. They lifted out of their deathly poses and stood to attention. With calm sureness, the woman ordered them forward, and the wraiths moved out through the fields. Stunned to silence, I thought I was numb to all that could happen that night. But fresh horrors awaited me. For shortly after she sent out her deathly minions, one of them returned.

"Shambling along eagerly, it moved into the marketplace. And to my horror, a young woman followed it. I remember her name, Mary, and she called to the shade which I recognised as being her husband, Nathan. Pitifully she followed him until the woman, who had hidden herself once more in the shadows, pounced and struck her down. Several more of my neighbours were deceived in such a way, lead by ghostly visages of their loved ones, right to the eager death that awaited them before the Sandgoose."

Shackles paused now, inclining his head just so that his eyes were wreathed in shadow. None of us spoke, for fear of what we should say. But before one of us could, Shackles spoke again.

"I felt sick. To watch such slaughter, such systematic and eager slaughter of my friends and family no less, it made me sick to the core. I wanted to step off my branch and dive head first onto a rock below, to strangle myself until I died, or to walk down to the Sandgoose and meet my own horrible fate.

"But just when I thought I could endure no more, fresh horrors assailed me. For I heard a sweet cooing from the base of the tree. Peering down, and trying to pierce the shroud of night, I saw a figure at the bottom, staring at me. Great big eyes, shining palely in the glow of the Sandgoose met my own, and I shivered as I witnessed my mother, raised from death to serve that evil woman.

"'William. William, come down here please' she called to me. 'William, come down please.' Tears filled my eyes and my throat seized up. What words could I use, what language could I speak to this?

"'Please William' she called still to me, in the guise of my mother's voice. 'Please William, come down here now, and stop this foolishness.'

"'No mother!" I cried back, my voice breaking. 'No mother, go away. Leave me alone!'

"'William. I am you're mother. Come down here please, I want you to come down.' Thus she taunted me the entire night, calling my name and trying to trick me. Obviously it was a trap. Even as she baited me, I saw two more unfortunates fall into the trap down by the Sandgoose. But even so, I nearly climbed out of that tree not once, but several times. It was my mother, calling to me. I knew she was dead; there was no doubt of it. But it was my mother, calling to me.

"I resisted her all night, and with the coming of the dawn, the shade evaporated. Suddenly though I felt exposed, as if the sun's bright light would finally give me away. Down in the market, the Sandgoose still smouldered but the worst of the blaze was over, and the fire hadn't spread. The woman emerged, yawning and stretching as she awoke from sleep. Glancing about her once more, she set off happily for the Rookridge Road, and she still failed to notice me.

"Still fearing a trick, I didn't descend until much later that day. By then my limbs were stiff, and my body weak from lack of food. I felt tired in more ways than can be described. I learnt later that others had survived, resisting too the harrowing presence of the shades calling them, or else surviving grievous injuries which would have left others easily dead. Oakfield survived, and continued to survive, but it was never the same. I left that day, and never went back. The Temple of Light was destroyed, and the skies grew dim about Oakfield, but the town went on.

"As for the woman, she went on to save all of Albion when she fought with Lucien at the Tattered Spire. She became widely feared and hated all across the land, but no one ever forgot her deeds that day, many years later. And to this day, she still roams freely, going where she pleases, doing what she pleases. She is still evil, and still hated. And I still have to kill her."

Shackles fell silent now, and we all sensed that his story was at an end. This silence was final and though none of us could think of anything to say, nothing needed to be said. Lightning cracked over the sea and I turned to face it. The bright bolt illuminated that menacing coast for but a moment before plunging us all back into darkness deeper than before. And I shivered.


End file.
